The Angels
by timewalker05
Summary: One-shot. Chuck's guardian angel versus the Fulcrum assassin known as 'The Angel of Death.'


LOS ANGELES (THE ANGELS)

He was awake before the alarm, as usual. And, as usual, he was dreading the day ahead. Another day of being someone he was not. Another day of lying to family and friends about who he was and what he did. Another day of being a hero without anyone knowing; well, no one except him and his handler. Why did he keep at it? Why didn't he just run away from all the danger and dread and lies? He sighed. He knew why. Ironically, it was John Casey, the emotionally constipated NSA agent, who had expressed it so eloquently: the choice to protect something bigger than oneself is the right choice.

He reached over and turned off the alarm before it could go off and wake his roommate; the only one to whom he could tell all his secrets. And only then because that furry little creature couldn't talk. He dug through the pile of clothes on the floor and picked out a rumpled shirt and pants. Another irony: that the boy who had been such a neat freak as a child was now, to all outward appearances, a complete slob. Just one more layer in the cover life that had, for all practical purposes, become his real life.

The CIA, the NSA, and the FBI had rules about how long someone could stay in deep cover. They knew the dangers of having the cover become all consuming; of having the cover become the reality. Unfortunately, he didn't work for the government. He wondered, as he often did, if he would have said 'yes' ten years ago if he had known what the mission would entail. Then he shook his head. The answer was always the same: of course he would have. The choice had been clear then and it was no less clear now. In fact, he had come to love his charges in a way the callow youth he had been never would have understood or appreciated, let alone thought possible. That the love was one-sided was painful, but necessary.

He was tying his shoes when the laptop sitting on the pile of papers and empty pizza boxes on his desk chimed. He walked over, sat down, and opened up the computer. To all outward appearances, it was a battered old Dell laptop with a scratched casing and a few dents. But like himself, outward appearances could be deceiving. The laptop was not cutting edge, not even 'bleeding edge'; this computer was a generation beyond anything on the drawing boards at Dell or Apple or even Roark Instruments.

A single word, 'Identify,' appeared on the screen. He held still while the computer scanned his retina and satisfied itself as to his identity. Once that was complete, new words appeared on the screen, "Titan, secure?"

He typed in, "Titan secure." A 'picture' - if it could be called that, composed as it was of randomly changing characters - appeared on the screen. _Orion_. Perhaps the most wanted man in the world: hunted by the NSA and Fulcrum with equal vigor but always staying one step ahead of either of them.

"Good morning, Titan," Orion said in his digitally distorted voice. "All is well, I trust?"

Titan nodded. "Everything is quiet, for now."

"Unfortunately," Orion replied, "it will not stay that way. The automated bots picked up some chatter. Fulcrum, as you know, is frustrated at the number of agents they have lost in Southern California. They are convinced that the Burbank Buy More is a CIA substation."

Titan nodded. He was well aware of Fulcrum's interest in the Burbank Buy More and of their interest in one certain employee of that Buy More. In fact, he had been responsible for no less than seven Fulcrum agents that had 'disappeared' while nosing around the Buy More and its environs.

"Fulcrum has decided to up the ante. I am sending the file on Victor Roshenko, code named Backstop. He is a Fulcrum assassin also known as 'The Angel of Death' and he has received orders to proceed to Burbank and eliminate Chuck Bartowski's handler's. That, of course, cannot be allowed to happen."

"Understood," Titan replied.

"I know I can count on you," Orion replied. "And thank you. You know how important this mission is."

"Indeed," Titan replied. Ten years and Orion still felt the need to remind him of 'how important the mission was,' as if he was some newbie, wet-behind-the-ears operative. Ah well, one tended to get protective with the lives of one's children. Or so Titan surmised. His mission precluded any real attachments, including children. The whole 'something bigger than ourselves' again.

"Good luck," the figure on the screen said. "Orion out."

"Titan clear." The figure of Orion was replaced by a 'C:' prompt. If anyone else accessed the computer, they would think it a mere windows machine with a fried operating system.

Titan called up the file on Victor Roshenko. A single image appeared on the screen, but that one image was subliminally encoded with thousands of other images. It was Orion's greatest achievement: the ability to encode data in images, upload those images directly into the human brain, and allow the operative instant access to a complete file of information on a particular topic. It took a certain type of brain to be able to accept and process the data. Titan had that type of brain. So did Chuck Bartowski. Of course, while Chuck had gotten the full Intersect download, Titan only received downloads as necessary from Orion. But ten years of practice meant that he was much more adept at accessing the data than Chuck. In addition, Titan knew a few tricks about using the Intersect; Chuck was still learning the basics.

Armed now with the complete file on Victor Roshenko a/k/a Backstop a/k/a the Angel of Death, Titan began to arm himself with more the corporeal tools of his trade: the electronic computer disguised as a pocket calculator that allowed him to override most security systems; two Sig Sauer P250's (his firearm of choice); and an assortment of more prosaic spy tools such as lock picks and throwing knives.

Thus prepared, he filled the pet's bowl and then climbed into his battered old van. Like his computer or himself, the van didn't look like much but was actually a highly sophisticated electronic surveillance platform and mobile command center. He drove to the Buy More Plaza and parked in his favorite spot, the one that gave him a line-of-sight to both the Buy More and the Orange Orange. He then activated the array of highly sophisticated and practically undetectable surveillance devices he had hidden in the Buy More, the Orange Orange and even in the Castle itself.

His eyes were drawn to the monitor featuring Chuck and Sarah sitting at a table in the Orange Orange, sipping coffee. Titan punched a button and Chuck's voice came through his headphones.

"So I had that dream again last night," Chuck said. "The one where my Dad came back and found me working at the Buy More."

Sarah laid a hand over Chuck's. "That makes, what, three times in the last two weeks?" she asked.

Chuck nodded. "Do you ever think about your Dad?" he asked Sarah.

Sarah squirmed uncomfortably and Titan shook his head. Sarah, he knew, hated talking about herself, but Chuck continually pressed. You'd think he would have learned after the whole 'pencil through the picture' incident just before her high school reunion.

"Of course I think about him," Sarah said. "But he's spent more of my life in prison than out. It's not like we're what you would call 'close.'"

Titan felt a twinge of sadness. He understood Sarah Walker more than she could possibly know. He knew what it was like to have a parent who was constantly in and out of prison. A part of him wanted to sit her down and talk to her about it; to commiserate over how their parents' choices had led inexorably to the people they were today - spies who couldn't trust anyone - not even family - and who secretly mourned a lost childhood. He shook his head to clear it. He needed to avoid such dangerous thoughts. They interfered with the mission.

"But at least he's tried," Chuck said. "He stopped by to visit and to give you some money."

"Money that he had conned from a very dangerous member of the Saudi royal family," Sarah said. "Besides, giving me money and buying me gifts was just his way of making up for my not having a normal childhood."

Her face clouded over and Titan knew what was coming next. Sarah had just realized that Chuck had maneuvered her into talking about herself and her feelings. Now, good spy that she was, she would turn the conversation back to Chuck and his feelings. She didn't disappoint: "So, in the dream did you tell him about the Intersect?"

Chuck nodded. "I think maybe it's become a Freudian thing. It's tearing me up not to be able to tell Ellie about this whole secret life; about who I really am and what I do. I mean, I save the world on a regular basis and my sister thinks I'm a has-been slacker at twenty-eight with a nothing job and no future."

Not for the first time, Titan felt his blood run cold. It was a cruel irony that Titan's own life so paralleled elements the lives of both Chuck and Sarah, yet he had to listen to them wallow in the same angst that had afflicted him for ten years without being able to commiserate with these kindred spirits or offer them the benefit of his hard-earned wisdom. But his job, his mission, was Chuck and Ellie's physical protection, not Chuck and Sarah's emotional well-being. And break of his cover would compromise his mission. And as Orion would no doubt say, only the living have the luxury of emotional conundrums. With a sigh, he continued to be an unwilling voyeur to Chuck and Sarah's angst-fest.

"I don't know. I think that telling my Dad in the dream is a way to at least tell someone in my family about my secret life. To make _someone_ in my family proud of me and what I've been doing."

Sarah gave Chuck a dazzling smile. From her files, Titan knew that her smile had muddled men's brains from London to Tokyo. "Chuck," she said. "Ellie may not know, but _I'm_ proud of you. _I _know what you've done and what you're still doing. You've saved a lot of people, Chuck, and whether you can tell anyone or not, you know it and I know it. No one can ever take that away from you."

Sarah's hand still rested atop Chuck's, and he laid his free hand on top of hers and smiled. For a moment it looked as if he might lean in and kiss her, but then Sarah suddenly pulled her hand away. "Don't you have to go clock in?" she asked. With a sigh, Chuck glanced down at his watch.

"Yeah," he said. "You're right. I don't need Emmett docking me another two and a half minute's pay for being late. Oh, don't forget: Ellie wants you to come over tonight to help her choose centerpieces. She's making her famous meatloaf."

Sarah laughed. "How can I turn down Ellie's meatloaf?" she asked.

They stood for a moment, looking at each other.

'Kiss her you idiot,' Titan muttered. 'She obviously wants you to. Just grab her, pull her close, and plant one right on the lips.' During his ten years as guardian angel for Chuck and Ellie, Titan had come to really care for, even love, the Bartowskis. But he had to admit, Chuck could be rather dense when it came to women. He had lost count of the number of women who had thrown themselves at Chuck over the last five years, only to have Chuck wander off, oblivious. And was there ever a more star-crossed couple than Chuck and Sarah? They were obviously in love. They obviously were meant for each other. Yet they danced around the issue like dancers in a Mexican Hat Dance. Titan had lost count of the number of times he had to restrain himself from barging in, hogtying them each to a chair and refusing to set them free until they actually talked _to_ one another instead of _at_ one another.

But then again, he mentally sighed, he knew the necessity of keeping a distance between the protector and the protected only too well. The agony of being so close and yet for far from someone you cared for. Granted, his attachment was more paternal than romantic, but it at least gave him an insight into Sarah's psyche. Still, he wished that he could explain to her – or better yet, to General Beckman – that caring for someone did not compromise one's ability to protect that person. If anything, it made the protection detail more immediate, more personal. He knew that he would willingly and gladly give his own life for either Chuck or Ellie's. The love he bore for them in secret didn't compromise his determination in the least.

Alas, Chuck lamely gave Sarah a little wave and a "See you tonight" and left the Orange Orange for his dead-end job at the Buy More.

Titan switched to a split screen to watch Chuck and Sarah, while he called up his surveillance of John Casey on a separate monitor. Casey was getting ready for work. Checking the satellite feeds and the perimeter surveillance, it appeared that Roshenko had not yet arrived. Knowing it might be a long wait, Titan got comfortable and settled in for a long stakeout.

***

It was three days before he spotted Roshenko; the man was that good. There was no doubt that he had been here for some time, trailing his targets, gathering intel, planning his attack. Titan had gamed all the scenarios in his head; putting himself in Roshenko's shoes. He would have to take out Sarah and Casey nearly simultaneously. Taking out one too soon before the other would merely alert the other target, making the second kill that much more difficult; this limited the potential assault scenarios.

Roshenko was a sniper, specializing in the 'long kill.' So Titan had spent the last three days scoping out potential perches in addition to his regular surveillance. He had placed cameras at each of the potential sites, along with equipment monitoring their ingress and egress. The cameras were remote monitored by special pattern-recognition software developed by Orion that could pick out Roshenko no matter what his disguise. He got a hit at three a.m. on the morning of the third day after Orion had first alerted him.

He watched as Roshenko methodically visited each of the sniper perches in turn. With a hint of pride, Titan noted that Roshenko had missed what he considered the most advantageous spot, but then Titan had the advantage of ten year's familiarity with the terrain. Roshenko went back the next morning to more meticulously scout two of the locations: a primary and a backup, no doubt. Unfortunately, there was no way of knowing which was the primary and which the backup until Roshenko made his move.

After Roshenko finished, Titan slipped into the Orange Orange and down into the Castle. The electronic gizmo provided by Orion allowed him to disable the security system and send the surveillance equipment into a pre-recorded loop. Sure, there were easier places to use the restroom, but he took a secret thrill in tweaking the nose of the NSA and CIA by using their secret base for his personal needs. There were so few joys in this line of work; one took one's fun wherever possible.

At four the next morning, Titan was awakened from his sleep on the cot in the back of the van by an electronic chime, signifying a 'hit.' He was instantly awake and at the monitors. There he was: the Angel of Death. He had selected his primary perch and was meticulously setting up his sniper's nest. The key to a good sniper was patience. The best could sit for hours or even days in a concealed position, waiting for their prey.

Titan slipped on his tac vest, strapped on his Sig Sauers and slipped silently out of the van. He had positioned it out of the line-of-sight of the two likely perches. Now, with a stealth that would make a cat jealous, he crept toward Roshenko's blind. His original plan had been to beat Roshenko at his own game: simply take a perch overlooking Roshenko's and use the 'long kill' against the 'long killer.' There was a certain poetic irony to that plan that appealed to Titan. But, alas, Roshenko was too good for that. He had chosen a perch that was not only concealed from the ground, but from any over-looking kill spots; this one was going to have to be up close and personal.

Titan crept up the ladder leading to the roof of Lou's Deli, the perch chosen by Roshenko. As he climbed, the third rung gave a little 'creak' and he froze. He waited a full ten minutes, carefully regulating his breathing, before continuing up the ladder. He stopped at the top of the ladder and waited, keeping his breathing as slow and regular as possible. There were no sounds from the roof, so he slowly eased over the side and dropped silently onto the roof itself. Other than the little bit of asphalt on which he stood, the majority of the roof was gravel over tarpaper. That would make moving silently more difficult, but not impossible.

Titan pulled out one of his pistols and slowly set out across the roof, carefully placing each step so as not to crunch on the gravel and give away his position. A tiger stalking his prey, he moved carefully across the roof. He heard the barest whisper of a 'click' and suddenly dove to his left as a puff of dirt and gravel erupted from his previous spot.

Titan popped off two quick shots. He didn't expect to hit anything; the object was rather to force his assailant to keep his head down. Now it became more of a game. Titan's lips curled into a smile. He never really had been suited for the ambush, the unexpected shot from the dark. He preferred to meet his prey head-on; one on one; mano a mano. He circled around the air conditioning unit, working his way closer to Roshenko's hiding place. He heard Roshenko shifting, no doubt looking for where his target had gone.

It was the oldest trick in the book, but sometimes those worked best. Titan grabbed a handful of gravel and threw it in a high arc over to the far side of Roshenko's blind. He heard the man shift, and then Titan bolted for the assassin at a dead run. Roshenko heard him at the last moment and whirled. His rifle swung around and connected solidly with Titan's arm, causing Titan's gun to fly out of his hand. At the same moment, there was a sharp 'crack' as the trigger assembly for Roshenko's gun bent.

Roshenko tossed his now-useless weapon aside and crouched in a fighting stance. He looked at Titan and a smile crossed his lips as he no doubt imagined what an easy fight this would be. After all, Titan didn't exactly look like much of a threat in a fist-fight. It would be his last mistake. Titan launched himself at Roshenko with a speed that belayed his physique. His fist cracked against the side of the assassin's head and Roshenko staggered backwards. "Oh, come on, you can do better than that," Titan said, goading his opponent.

Roshenko came forward at a rush and Titan swept his leg – knees were always a weak point. So many people neglected to sweep the leg. The Fulcrum operative's knee made a sickening 'snap' as he fell. Roshenko howled in agony as he lay writhing on the gravel roof. Titan stepped over to his helpless opponent. "Sorry," he said as he aimed a vicious kick at the man's head. Realizing that his opponent was dazed but not dead, Titan picked him up, stepped over to the edge of the roof, and dropped the man over the side. There was a rather sickening sound, a cross between a splat and a crunch, as the body hit the ground.

Titan quickly cleaned the scene, collecting Roshenko's rifle, his own gun and all his surveillance gear. Then he eased himself down the ladder and over to the body. Roshenko was clearly dead. Fortunately, there wasn't much blood. Titan carried the body over to the van and dumped it in the back. He would dispose of it later. And the legend of how dangerous the Buy More was for Fulcrum agents would grow just a little more.

Titan looked at his watch. Just enough time to dispose of the body and then get to work.

Three hours later, a haggard looking Jeff Barnes staggered through the doors of the Buy More. Five days with little sleep had taken their toll, but his slightly dazed expression merely added to his already dubious reputation. Lester came running up to him. "Jeff, buddy, where've you been?"

Jeff was about to speak when Big Mike came barging out of this office. "Barnes! Where the hell have you been?"

"Barstow," Jeff replied.

"Barstow?" Mike said. "What were you doing in Barstow?"

"I really don't know," Jeff replied. "I was at Bennie's, you know, for the happy hour, and the next thing I knew I was on a park bench in Barstow. But the soup at the soup kitchen there was really tasty, and they gave me a bus pass back here."

Big Mike threw up his hands and went back in his office.

Chuck Bartowski, watching from the Nerd Herd desk merely shook his head. Since the Missile Command incident, he had something of a soft spot for Jeff, but thought Jeff's brain was so fried that it was amazing he remembered how to tie his shoes in the morning.

Jeff smiled stupidly and said, "I'll be in my office." The others watched him stagger back toward the men's room with shakes of their heads. Jeff staggered into the men's room, went into 'his' stall and locked the door. He pulled out his cell phone (another high-tech device disguised as a first generation iPhone) and hit a special combination of numbers.

"Orion, secure," the voice on the other end said.

"Titan secure," Jeff replied. "Threat eliminated."

"Thank you," Orion said. "You know how important this is to me."

"And to me as well," Jeff said. "I promise. As long as I am here, nothing will happen to your children."

"Excellent. Orion out."

"Titan out."

Jeff put away the cell phone, plastered a pleasantly stupid expression on his face, and staggered back out onto the sales floor.

***

Author's Note: I originally wrote this piece as an intended collaboration with another author. Alas, it was written before the last couple episodes and was rendered rather moot by them; therefore, we are working on a different story for our collaboration. But as long as this was written, I figured I would throw it out there for the minimal amusement of the Chuckocenti, the Nerd Herders, the loyal readers of fanfiction[dot]net.

Thanks to **MySoapBox** and **Poa** for looking it over. The mistakes and lapses in logic are mine. Some of their advice I took, some I didn't. Call it hubris.


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